Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

anymore.”

Evelyn turned her face away, her fingers gripping her watch strap. “You are shutting me out.”

“No,” I said. “I am just letting you go.”

The motel room was small and smelled of carpet shampoo. By eight o’clock, the blue porcelain coffee cup sat on the laminate desk next to my suitcase.

Frank sat on the edge of the second bed, a black leather portfolio continue reading …